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The Family Are Not a Factory
by Bronwyn Valentine


the family make noise on all sides against the fat
the family talk around my body about their changed bodies
the family compile their lists of strategies
to avoid the illnesses of our grandparents and of being alive
the family congratulate each other on their optimized aliveness
and the new small shapes of their bodies
and the working order of their interiors
everything placed very correctly 
everything well behaved in their machineries
I look towards the line between wall and ceiling and go unfocused
while the sticky revulsion towards my body approaches 
that even as I bring my fatness amongst the family the family hate the fat
and the family are afraid of death and what death does to a body
I look inside my layers for a machine but I do not find a machine
I carry only warm living animal viscera and I am pleased
the family make a factory of their bodies but the animal will not stay away 
the factory are a ruins and a desolation of the generational family
the animal will always get inside and the creeping overgrowth
to burrow and twine in the machinery and fuck it all up 
oh my family will you not eat the bread that is laid out before you
will no one here eat this day’s bread and give thanks

Bronwyn Valentine has an MFA in creative writing from the University of Alabama. Previous work has appeared in The Offing, Monstering, Jellyfish Magazine, Birdfeast, and elsewhere. They live in Ohio.
ISSN 2157-8079
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